


Cars And History (turn to rust)

by hihoplastic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-27
Updated: 2010-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>December 31st, 2008, 11:59pm.</p><p>Atlantis is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cars And History (turn to rust)

**Author's Note:**

> \- for [sga_santa](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_santa/)  
> \- for @lj cassievalentine, who requested _john/elizabeth, friendship, romance, gen, hot lovin's._   
> \- [original post.](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_santa/221965.html)
> 
> \- so many thanks to @lj tenacious_err for being an absolute saint, and @lj anuna_81 for the constant encouragement and hand-holding. ♥ you both.   
> \- title from _cars and history_ by strays don't sleep.

_December 31st, 2008  
11:59pm_

'Make a wish,' she murmurs.

He holds his breath and-

\--

_Atlantis is gone._

\--

_11:54pm_

He finds her an hour later on the balcony. 

'Hey.'

She glances over her shoulder. 'Hey.'

'Aren't you cold?'

She shrugs just as a shiver curls up her spine, and he quickly removes his coat, draping it over her shoulders. 'John-' 

'I'm fine.'

She glares, but it's half-hearted and grateful as she slides her arms through the sleeves and pulls the collar tight around her neck. 'I guess I forgot,' she says absently. 

He leans against the railing. 'Forgot what?'

Her voice is wistful. 'Snow.'

\--

_He wakes up in a grey-walled infirmary and panics. _

_The lights are bright and the machines beep steadily and there are flashes - one, two threefour - that all merge together and he's gasping, choking under water and rushing air and, _

_'John.' _

_His head whips to the side and his vision blurs and there's a hand on his arm, soft and cool. He shudders, tries to focus, tries to place the reassurance with a face but everything's too much, too bright, and he can't see._

_'You're okay,' the voice says again._

_He reaches out desperately. _

_'I can't see.'_

\--

_9:45pm_

She is beautiful. 

Her hair is long. Her skin is pale. Too thin, he thinks, but _god-_

She catches his gaze suddenly, and her smile freezes. The songs fade. Someone bumps his arm, maybe. A door opens. He tries to wave. 

She waves back. 

\--

_The symbolism isn't lost on him, that the first thing he sees (when he finally can) is her smile._

\--

_9:51pm_

She excuses herself and crosses the room.

He swallows; stares. ‘Hi,’ he offers. 

She blinks (as if he were a ghost). ‘Hi.’ 

\--

_Rodney calls about a 4th of July party; a Halloween party; a Christmas party. _

_‘Isn’t there anything you still celebrate?’ he snaps. _

_(Her birthday is in three days. He sent a card so he won’t have to call.)_

_‘Kwanzaa,' he says._

\--

_9:52pm_

The silence aches. 

‘How are you?’ she asks finally. 

‘Good,’ he says, too quickly. ‘You?’

She nods. ‘Good.’ 

\--

_Landry shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, Colonel,’ he says, ‘but with these results, we can’t put you back in the field.’_

\--

_9:53pm_

‘So.’

He shifts. ‘So.’

She huffs out a laugh. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she says, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. ‘It’s good to see you,’ she breathes. 

Like she means it. Like it’s true. 

His hands hesitate at her back. 

(She smells like gardenias.)

‘Yeah,’ he echoes. 

When she pulls away, she’s smiling. 

He smiles back. 

\--

_‘I’m so sorry, John.’ _

_‘Yeah,’ he agrees, but it’s all numb and white and blue and bright. _

_He doesn’t notice that she can’t think of anything else to say._

\--

_10:24pm_

‘Oh,’ she says, in the middle of her own sentence. ‘Thank you for the cards.' She touches his arm. 'They mean a lot to me.’

\--

_He can’t fly. _

_She can’t lead._

_They suffocate._

\--

_10:35pm_

‘I saw you on TV, once,’ he says. 

‘Paris?’ she asks. 

‘Israel.’ 

She cringes. ‘That went about as well as an IOA interrogation,’ she says wryly. 

He remembers too well.

\--

_She leaves before they can fire her._

_‘I was offered a job at the UN,’ she says. _

_‘Congratulations.’ _

_She hesitates. Then: ‘Come with me.’_

\--

_10:35pm_

But Elizabeth just waves her hand and smirks. ‘Don’t get me started. The words I have for that particular political quagmire are not new-year's-party appropriate.’ 

He breathes a little easier.

\--

_It’s a bad idea, but there’s no one to stop them. Her breath is hot against his ear and her skin is smooth and her thighs are firm and she smells like the city and the ocean and the rain. He runs his hands over every curve and every hollow and every bone and kisses her with his hands tangled in her hair, like she’ll vanish from above him if he doesn’t hold on tight enough; slip through his fingers like everything else, everyone else. Time. _

_It’s a bad idea, but she breathes his name and it’s better than coming undone. _

\--

_10:52pm_

He scratches his head. ‘So, are you, uh…seeing anybody?’ 

Her lips twitch in amusement, but she shakes her head. ‘No, not right now. There was someone a while ago, for a bit.’ She shrugs, then adds dryly, ‘Most men don’t appreciate it when you dump them for a summit conference.’ 

‘Most men are idiots.’ 

\--

_She waits. _

_He knows she waits, because he watches. From across the street, around the corner, hidden. She waits. Her suitcase gets damp in the rain. _

_He waits until she goes._

\--

_10:53pm_

She starts at the seriousness in his tone. 

‘John,’ she begins; pauses. 

He looks away. 

\--

_‘Good luck with everything,’ he writes, and tucks it in her purse with a CD and a photograph. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’_

\--

_10:54pm_

Finally, she sighs. ‘We both made mistakes,’ she murmurs. ‘And you were right, in some respects - to stay.’ She shakes her head. ‘It wouldn’t have worked, then. It was just too much.’ 

John swallows painfully against the dry ache in his throat. ‘And now?’

‘And now-’

\--

_Elizabeth doesn't tell him. _

_It takes two weeks, a few overheard comments, and nightmare to remind him, and it propels him to her doorstep at four in the morning. _

_'John?'_

_She's wide awake. _

_'You came back for me.'_

\--

_10:55pm_

Someone calls her name. 

The spell breaks. 

She glances at him apologetically, and he slips away; watches her from behind a glass of something far too sweet. Someone turns the radio on - _hark the herald angels sing!_\- and Rodney yells a complaint, he's sure. 

Voices join in: _glory to the newborn king!_

Absently, he thinks of Chanukah. 

\--

_He remembers light and vacuum and blue. He remembers cold and dark and wet and metal. He remembers the war – crystallized images of falling heroes; the pounding bass of drummed-out orders, his orders, his failures; burning flesh; hissing; pouring; blue; wet; rain; white; brightbrightbright—_

\--

_11:59pm_

-she turns. 

He stares. 

The ball drops. 

He inhales: 'Elizabeth-'

(Inside, there is cheering. A soft echoing of songs and joy.)

He swallows tightly and forces a smile. 'Nevermi-' 

\--

_He remembers waking up to her. _

\--

_January 1st, 2009  
12:00am_

She places two fingers against his lips. 'It's a new year, John,' she murmurs, the faintest hesitation stitched between the words. 'Want to try that again?' 

\--

_He finds her in the bathroom at two in the morning, her hands cracked and raw from the heat. There’s steam in the basin of the sink and her eyes are blood-shot and he grabs her wrists in panic. _

_‘It won’t come off,’ she says. _

_He turns the water to cold and grabs a washcloth and tries to sooth the burns._

_‘Jesus, Elizabeth.’ _

_She closes her eyes. ‘It won’t come off.’ _

_‘What won’t?’ he asks, gently. _

_She almost breaks. ‘The ash.’_

\--

_12:00am_

Her hand drops to her side. 

She waits. He stares. 

The radio is playing _Auld Lang Syne._

\--

_One thousand, two hundred and thirty-three days go by. _

_He regrets._

\--

_12:01am_

Her face falls. 

He stares. 'Elizabeth-' he tries, but she's already turning away on the tail-end of a sad smile. 

'Happy New Year, John,' she says. 

She's gone before he registers the empty space. 

\--

_He wonders what would have happened if he'd said yes._

\--

_1:37am_

He pounds on the door. 

An elevator dings; a light flicks on; a curtain moves. 

'John?' she asks, stares; and then: 'Oh. Your coat.' 

'What coat?' 

(There's a gentle crease between her eyes; he wants to kiss it away.)

'Are you alright?' she asks; all forgiven. All misunderstood. 'John?'

'You know the Chinese New Year isn't for almost a month.'

'What?'

He swallows. 'I said the Chinese New Year isn't-'

'I heard what you said.' There's a brief pause; hesitation and impatience blend. 'John, it's late,' she says. She looks tired. 'What are you-' 

'I never keep my New Year's resolutions.' 

'Not many people do.' 

He stares at the ground; mutters, 'Yeah.'

'John-'

'I don't want you to be something I can't keep.' 

\--

_She calls. _

_He answers. _

_They talk. _

_I miss you, is what he means to say, but never does; I'm sorry._

\--

_1:39am_

He waits. She stares. A door down the hall opens and shuts; someone laughs; a curtain closes. 

'Elizabeth,' he pleads. 

She shakes her head. 'Shut up, John.' 

\--

_Somehow he knows, all it would take is a breath, and he could have her back._

\--

_1:40am_

Slow and sweet and long. 

Her hand curls around his neck and he shudders at the chill, but her lips are soft and warm and she tastes like toothpaste and sun and breeze and stars and salt and quiet and he can't quite breathe; can't think. Fingertips against her jaw. Skin: smooth - almost; he traces the scar along her neck with his thumb. Her nose bumps his as they break away. 

With foreheads pressed together: 'I should have done that two hours ago.'

She almost laughs; he can feel the vibrations, gentle and coaxing against his chest. 'Try two years.'

‘Four.’

‘John-’ she starts. 

‘I’ve missed you.’ 

She smiles. ‘I know.’

\--

_'It's me.' _

_A dream, he thinks._

_Then his hand is being lifted and placed against her arm. His fingers brush against the Atlantis patch on her sleeve, and she doesn't stop him when he ventures higher, bringing shaky palms up to touch her face. He traces the lines around her mouth, her chin; gently brushes his thumbs over her eyelids and lets his fingers tangle in her hair, dragging her down._

_''Lizabeth,' he chokes. 'Thought-' _

_'I know,' she murmurs. _

_One hand cups her cheek, and she covers it with her own. 'Okay?' he asks, and feels her nod. _

_'We're all okay.'_

*

© 12/2009


End file.
